Like Clockwork
by Shu of the Wind
Summary: "Hey, do you think I could pull off a She's the Man and attend Dalton?" "No." The answer was immediate, and a little hoarse. "Definitely…no." A SantanaWes fic, post 2x12. WARNING! SPOILERS FOR 2x12. Happy Valentine's Day! Oneshot.


_Happy Valentine's Day, everyone._

_I don't know why so few people enjoy this pairing. It's hilarious. And Santana is one of my favorite characters. I love her bitchitude._

_iStat:  
Story title: like clockwork  
Story word count: 3997 (or thereabouts)  
Story rating: Teen. Santana swears a lot._

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**like clockwork  
by shu of the wind**

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This would not stand.

Like it wasn't humiliating enough that Puck now only screwed around with her when he was on an off with Quinn or the hobbit or whatever other whore he'd managed to pick up randomly (sometimes waitresses from Breadstix, even, which Santana didn't get _at all_ when she was one of the hottest girls in school and the Breadstix waitress had the biggest hips known to man). No. Now he had to be screwing around with _Lauren Zizes_.

Lauren Zizes, one of the fattest girls in school.

Lauren Zizes, She Of The Chocolate-Gulping Nastiness.

Lauren Zizes, _high school wrestling champion._

Seriously.

What.

The.

Hell.

She could always fool around with Sam, but what was the point? She was lonely, sure, but not enough to get into a real relationship with the bleached blonde backstage boy. (Because seriously, he was a perfect fit for Quinn because despite his awesome abs, he had no. Presence. At all. And when Santana checked out boys, she looked for _presence._ Which was exactly why Puckerman had been a perfect choice.)

(For a few months, anyway.)

"What can I get for you, sweet cheeks?"

Santana blinked, roused from her soliloquy, and automatically checked out the barista behind the counter. He was giving her The Look, and he had a nice nose, she guessed. She wasn't in a flirty mood, though, and even if she had been, she wouldn't have gone there. _Man-boobs, thick hips, fat ass. No thanks._ Plus, he was staring at her chest, which, despite the fact it made her feel a little better (at least _someone_ thought they were worth staring at) was pissing her off.

"My eyes are on my face, asshole, not my boobs." Santana drummed her nails on the counter until he looked up at her, and then continued. "Don't call me sweet cheeks. _Ever. Again. _And if you're so eager to help, you can get an STD for me and pass it to my stupid ex-boyfriend."

Man-Boobs stared at her. "Um…excuse me?"

"Didn't I explain it enough for you? I want you to go lick a toilet seat, catch herpes or gonorrhea or something else stupid, go sleep with my ex and make sure he gets it so he can go _die_ in pain as his junk shrivels up and drops off."

Utter terror flashed through his eyes, and Santana straightened up and smirked. _Oh, yeah. Crawl in fear now, barista-boy._

She was getting into it now. She spread her hands wide, and wondered if avenging angels looked like she did right now. "And maybe if you do he'll pass it to the hobbit, and sweet, sweet justice will raise her mighty hand and smite them all _down_ –"

"Don't you think you're being a little bit harsh?"

_ZOMG DUDE YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT TO ME._

Santana drew a breath through her nose, held it for a second, and then turned, glaring at whoever the hell it was interrupting her tirade. He was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. She wished Brittany was there to smooth the path of conversation. One of her crazy dolphin statements would have filled the hole perfectly.

"Why? Can't handle it rough?" She smacked five bucks on the counter. "Just…double chocolate venti frappe, please." Inwardly, Santana winced at the merry hell that was going to play with her hips-ass-waist-back, but it was Valentine's Day and she was alone and damn it, she needed chocolate right now. "_Scuttle,_ boob-boy!"

The barista scuttled. The boy in the uniform (_Dalton, and if he's familiar that means he's a Warbler and damn, those uniforms are _so_ friggin' gay_) raised an eyebrow, and that made her snap.

"What the hell do _you_ want, freako?"

"It's…Lopez, right?" He tilted his head slightly. "Santana Lopez?"

"Damn straight. Now what the hell do you _want_ from me?" Her mood shifted to flirty, and she put a hand on her hip. Screwing with some random guy's head would make her day infinitely brighter. Barista-boy just didn't count. "Or do you just want me?"

He sputtered a little. "Excuse me?"

"You're not that bad." Santana walked around him in a close circle, close enough so that her purse brushed his shoulder. "And unless you're gay, there isn't really any reason for you to say no."

"There's a multitude of reasons. First of all, I have a girlfriend –"

_Really? Because that eye-flicker says there're issues, and relationship issues are _my _own personal brand of heroin_."Fine. She can watch. You'd be surprised, she might even want to jump your bones again after that."

He paused, and the painfully shocked expression on his face was worth a thousand Man-Boobs checking out her chest. Then he opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Opened it again. A dull flush was rising in his face. "That was totally uncalled for."

"Fine, then. She doesn't have to know."

"You…no. You know what, just no. _No_," he repeated, when Santana opened her mouth. She frowned, and glared at him.

_This isn't going the way I want it to_.

"What? You don't want a piece of this? You gay?" Pause. "Actually, it doesn't matter if you are." She added, thoughtfully, as the venti frappachino appeared on the counter and she picked it up, wincing a little at the weight of it. _Damn, I forgot how big these things actually are._ "Pretty sure I turned a few of you guys straight."

He just looked at her for a moment, and then turned away, ordering a caramel machiatto. Santana stood there for a moment, and a flash of frustration made her put the straw in her mouth and swallow some of the frappachino. She hadn't had it in so long, it felt like returning to nirvana. She closed her eyes, savoring it for a moment, and then went back to torture.

"People tell me _I _taste like caramel."

"Okay, stop it." He glared at her. "It's not funny. Seriously."

"On the contrary. Your expressions are hilarious."

"Just…stop." He held up a hand in surrender, and in an instant Santana knew she'd hit a sore spot. She hid a smile. _Finally. Reaction._ "You have no idea what you sound like. You're demeaning yourself."

"I am _embracing _my _sexuality_. Funny when guys do that they're called a Casanova, and when girls do it they're called sluts." She struck a small pose. "I _enjoy_ being called slutty. It means I'm living my life to the fullest."

"Do you honestly think that?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to be doing? If I think a guy's cute, I want to sleep with him. Everyone _thinks_ about it, but nobody _does _it. And I like being truthful."

"I've heard."

The caramel machiatto appeared on the counter. He picked it up, gingerly, and then turned to look at her. "Look. You're attractive, and it's a little flattering, if a little…creepy…for you to be so insistent. But I feel bad for you, I really do. I can't imagine how much self-loathing you have to have to treat yourself the way you do."

That stunned her into silence for a full two minutes – a record, especially when it came to a _guy_. A thousand responses swerved high-speed through her head into major freeway traffic, and caused a huge pile-up accident, with broken glass and blood and awesome metal screechy noises.

_What the hell you say, punk?_

_Not as much self-loathing as _you'll _have when I break your _face_, Asian!_

_Where the hell's your girlfriend on Valentine's Day, you lying fugly biznatch?_

Finally, she remembered him. This was the guy who'd been singing during the Valentine's Day Lonely Hearts thing at Breadstix the night before. _God, my stupid face memory_. The one who'd given her a hug, probably because she'd looked so pathetic sitting there after that asshole dapper had sung 'sometimes it doesn't come at all' right in her _face_. It had taken everything in her not to punch him and ruin Kurt's evening, because this was clearly the same guy that had Princess Kurt all in a tizzy. And this was probably one of his friends. His name was…West or something.

Another memory sparked. "Dude." She said, following him. "You're the guy who was checking my ass out at sectionals."

A few people paused and looked at them strangely, and the boy pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was holding his temper with difficulty. "Do you think about what you say or does it just pop out?"

"I'm honest, that's all." _Fugly biznatch_. "And you were _totally _checking out my ass when I was singing. I saw you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were. You were checking out my ass."

"Please. Lopez. Go away."

"What? Are you meeting your girlfriend? Afraid I'll wreck the mood?"

"Yes, I am, and no, I'm not afraid you'll wreck the mood. You're just embarrassing yourself by talking this way. You do know that, right?"

"Do you think I care how people see me?" She raised an eyebrow. "It's not like I have a reputation left to lose, man. Everyone already knows what I am. What the hell are you doing in Lima, anyway? Thought you were over in Westerville."

"My girlfriend lives here."

_Again back to the mysterious girlfriend._ "Long-distance relationships never work out. Seriously. Trust me."

"Would you just buzz off?"

"No." She felt more like the old Santana than she had in weeks. She wasn't about to walk away. "I have a talent for knowing when a guy's gonna break up with his _querida_, and dude, you stink of Break-Up. Are you, like, insane? Nobody breaks up with their girlfriend on Valentine's Day. It's the worst thing you could _possibly _do."

"Look, you don't know anything about me, you don't know my girlfriend, you don't have any right to talk the way you do, and frankly I don't like you very much." He sat down, and looked away from her. "Please. Lopez. Just leave me alone."

She frowned. Studied his face a little harder. Then it all clicked.

"_She _broke up with _you_, didn't she?" Synapses were exploding in her brain. "And this is you trying to beg her to take you back. Dude. _You _don't grovel. You make _her _grovel. Who wears the pants in this relationship, anyway?"

He looked at her for a long moment. He didn't seem to be able to talk. Then, after a moment, he sighed and waved at the opposite chair, and triumph smacked into her veins. Finally. A freakin' reaction.

_Obviously, she did. Ugh. I'm _so _not in the mood for being a rebounder._ But it was Valentine's Day and Brittany had ditched her to go mack with Artie and Puck was with She Of The Chocolate-Gulping Nastiness, so it wasn't like she had anyone else to hang out with, because God forbid she hung out with her parents on Valentine's Day. That was just _lame_. So she sat down, and took a few more sips of the frappachino.

"Our lives suck." She said finally. West (or whatever his name was) angled a sharp look her way, made sharper by the expression on his face. It was wary, as though he was waiting for her to say something else sexually charged and completely unwelcome (_'cause that's how the Santana rolls, bitch_). But when she didn't say anything, he hesitantly inclined his head, only once.

"So why do you act that way?"

"Act what way?"

"Like you're a whore."

"Why do you act like you have a stick shoved up your butt?" He sputtered again, color flushing in his cheeks. She analyzed it. _He's kinda cute when he's offended. Kinda cute period_. _Not as smexy as Puckerman, but…_ "It's a matter of perspective, biznatch. Besides, what are you, like, the head of the Warblers or something?"

"Official committee member." His mouth quirked. "I get the gavel."

"So…" She trailed off delicately. When he raised an eyebrow, she scoffed. "Dude, is that some sort of code? Because if you want me to do something, just say it straight, don't prance around it like a pansy."

His deadpan look was completely uncalled for. "Lopez. A gavel is a hammer."

A hammer. "What, like that hammer on _Judge Judy_?"

Another sputter. To her surprise, he covered a smile with his hand. She usually ended up pissing people off with her comments, not making them _laugh_. "Uh…yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Don't snicker at me, biznatch. I'll stab you with my nail file." Santana popped the cap off of her frappachino and dragged her finger through the whipped cream, licking it off absently. In the next aisle, she saw a guy check her out, and his girlfriend smacked him for it. "Seriously. I sent a guy to the hospital once. I jabbed a pair of fingernail clippers into his chest, and they had to give him surgery and everything."

Long pause. "I'm not sure whether or not you're joking or whether you're psychotic."

"Dude, the guy felt me up without my permission. And he was, like, the Head Dork of Dorkville. Besides, I was nice to him. I let him live. Puck wouldn't have."

To her surprise, the word hurt. Puck. And She Of The Chocolate-Gulping Nastiness. Macking. _Ew, no! Bad image. Bad image._ Santana scooped up some more whipped cream, ignoring the fact that Asian Boy (A.B., hm?) was ignoring her.

_The truth is, Santana, you can dish it out but you can't take it. Okay maybe you're right. Maybe I'm destined to play the lead role in the Broadway musical of Willow, but the only job you're ever gonna have is working on a pole._

_Oooo, hobbit, you are going DOWN for that one._

But the usual energy surge she had when she thought about kicking Rachel Berry's tiny Japanese-businessman-fantasy ass from here to Seattle (not New York, because that meant the Broadway thing she was always talking about and the Berry might actually thank her and God help her if she ever did that) wasn't there. Santana dug deeper. There was still the sting of the comment, resounding through her brain. It took a lot to reduce her to tears, and clearly, Brittany had been freaking about it. Brit hadn't really gone near her since, snuggled up to her man whose legs didn't work and probably inwardly freaking about Santana not rocking back and forth like people did in movies, but screw her. If she was done with Santana, then…what?

_Brittany's the only one who really tolerates you, except Puckerman. And that's only when you sleep with him._

"So what's your excuse?" West-and-or-A.B.-or-whatever asked, jerking Santana out of a reverie. She blinked at him.

"Huh?"

"For being alone on Valentine's Day."

"My boyfriend – my ex-boyfriend," she corrected herself, irritated, "is screwing around with me by dating, like, the _worst_-looking girl in school, so I say screw him. And my _girlfriend_ has gone total _Stepford Wives_ on me and started dating the paraplegic, so I say screw her too. And, you know, New Directions hates me, so if it weren't for TV and torturing fat-ass baristas, I'd probably just go jump off a building."

"You have a girlfriend _and _a boyfriend."

"Sometimes simultaneously." She sent a smirk his way. "Well, semi-simultaneously. Mostly we girls mack while the guy watches. Or, you know, more. But whatevz." Santana turned to her purse and began to fumble through it, looking for her phone. "You're not a homophobe, are you? Because if you are, dude, we are _not_ having this convo."

"One of my best friends is gay."

"Dapper Frodo? The one Kurt's hot for? The one who was singing the McCartney song last night?"

"That'd be him."

"Damn. Why are all the hot boys gay?"

"Not all of them are."

"Are you saying you know some hot boys? Biznatch, you _are_ gay."

"That's not what I said. I just said one of my best friends is gay. Don't you think I'd know what kind of guy he considers hot by now?"

"Speaking of, I have to text him."

"Who?"

"Princess Kurt, dumbass. Tell your gay-friend-who-is-not-your-boyfriend that if he messes with Kurt, I'll tear it all off."

His eyes widened slightly, and she found, to her horror, that the surprised look was cute too. _Damn it, I have to get out of here_. "E-Excuse me?"

Her fingers tapped on the keys of her BlackBerry. **who is the asian in ur club?**

"I'll tear it off. Let him know. I don't care how Frodo-ish he is, he does _not_ get to mess with Princess Dolphin and live to tell about it."

"You've just totally outed yourself as an LOTR fan."

"Screw you, biznatch. Aragorn's hot. Besides, I know hobbits. Little freaks with hairy feet seem to infest my school."

He laughed again as her phone buzzed.

**You mean Wes?**Kurt's perfect texting grammar always made her cringe. **Why?**

**cuz he's cute n he was checking out my ass. **

"What, you don't have hobbits at your school?"

"No, I probably do. I just don't check out people's feet." An eyebrow went up. "So you check out people's feet?

**n he's flirting w/me. ;-)**

"Unavoidable. There's this open-toe sandal epidemic at my school. And, you know, dumbass Crocs."

**Wes is flirting with you? Santana, sweetiebitch, are you on drugs? The guy has a girlfriend.**

**not n e mor he doesnt. **

"Crocs are stupid."

"I know, right? People call _me _a bitch, but I just tell them when they look like a dumbass, and if you wear Crocs, I will be _ending you_."

Wes sat back in his chair, considering, and she wondered what she'd said. There was an expression on his face that she wasn't sure she recognized, and Santana prided herself on being able to figure out guys' expressions. This one was already kind of a freak, though, so it didn't really count.

"What do you mean, New Directions hates you?"

She jumped. She hadn't said that aloud. Had she? _Damn it, I can't remember!_ "Nothing. Doesn't matter. So, are you cut under that gay uniform, or should I just walk away now?"

"Quit acting like that, the distraction won't work."

"It's not a distraction. I'm sincerely interested."

"I might tell you, after you answer."

**I wondered why he was depressed. **

**iz he always such a tightass?**

"Just…" she waved a hand dismissively. "They don't appreciate my honesty. So I say screw them too. Besides, Finn and Quinn are _totally _fooling around, and I kinda made them out themselves, so…"

"Why would you do that? Kurt said you and Quinn were close."

"Biznatch, if the girl thinks she can steal _my _spot on the cheerleading squad, she has another thing coming." _Of course, you're no longer on the squad, so that doesn't really matter, does it?_ She scowled.

"You know, you could think about telling the truth in a kinder way. It might make people like you more."

"I don't want to be liked. I want to be feared. I want to be on top, and not always in a sexy way, either." She flapped her hand again. "So, is Frodo ever going to ask out the Princess?"

He ran a hand over his face. She thought she saw another smile. "You said that with a straight face."

"You sing Paul McCartney with a straight face. We're even. Who even _picked _that song anyway?"

"Who do you think?"

**That's how Wes rolls. You're not going to break his heart, are you? Because we kind of need him. He's the head of the committee that runs the Warblers.**

**u hav so little faith in me.**

**That's because I know you, Santana. Stay away from Wes.  
**

"Kurt picked it, didn't he? That little bitch. I'll tear his perfect hair out if it's the last thing I do." She leaned forward on her elbows. "And man, there _is_ no nice way to tell the truth. Not the real truth, anyway. I keep it real. People call me a bitch for it. I can handle being a bitch. And I can handle being a slut. I mean, I don't really care."

"You would care. Otherwise you wouldn't be threatening to…" He coughed. "What was it you told the barista to do?"

"Catch syphilis and pass it to my boyfriend so he can spread it around glee club with his Slutty McSlut ways. I could always pull the mono thing again, but I've done that once already this week."

"You gave someone mono on purpose?"

"They were fooling around. I knew the signs. I've done it often enough to recognize that. Besides, I was just trying to help."

**By the way, what was Finn talking about? You gave him mono?**

**his own fault, princess. ask him bout q. im just keepin it real, man.  
**

"Seriously, if you gave someone mono _on purpose_, don't you think they'll want revenge?"

"Screw Quinn. I can totally handle her. I'll rip out her fake hair by the roots."

"I think you're insecure." He said. "And that's why you act like a bitch all the time."

"And I think _you're _insecure and that's why you act like a tightass all the time."

"Caught." He laughed, and this time he didn't bother covering the smile. _Damn. Maybe a rebound idea won't be so bad after all._ "But seriously. You could probably do really well if you ease up on the truth a little."

"Nah. No compromising of the principles."

She thought about it for a second. Then, before she could second-guess herself, Santana leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted like caramel machiatto and something else, maybe mint. He went absolutely stiff, and then relaxed into it, and actually cupped her cheek in his hand. It was a surprise. Usually people just yanked on her. Gentleness wasn't something she was really familiar with. Finally, she pulled back, and pulled a pen from her pocket, scrawling her number on one of the table-napkins.

"If you decide caramel is your flavor." She stood up. Paused. "Hey, do you think I could pull off a _She's the Man_ and attend Dalton?"

"No." The answer was immediate, and a little hoarse. "Definitely…no."

"Why the hell not?"

"Please don't make me answer that."

Later that day, when Wes arrived back at Dalton, Kurt cornered him and slammed a photograph down on the table in the common room. It was a copy of the school newspaper, and on the front page was an enormous headline.

_CATFIGHT IN THE CHEERIOS_

"This is what you're getting yourself into if you start hanging out with Santana." He said. Wes blinked at him, a 'Huh?' expression on his face, before glancing at the picture. His mouth quirked a little.

"She mentioned that."

"You just broke up with Maria, Wes. And Santana as a rebound girl, yeah, that's not the best idea. She's kind of a bitch."

"I noticed. She asked the barista at Starbucks to pass syphilis to her ex-boyfriend."

Blaine, passing them, stopped dead. "_Excuse me?_"

"She was pissed off at him for some reason." He shrugged a little, and shifted his grip on his bag. "It was…interesting."

"What was interesting?"

"She's very blunt."

"She's called a bitch for a reason, Wes."

"What's going on?" Blaine asked, and Kurt ignored the little tingles that sped thorugh his skin when Blaine brushed his shoulder with his hand. "I don't understand. Why is Wes hanging out with Santana?"

"I don't know. It's weird." Kurt narrowed his eyes at Wes, and then sucked in a breath. "I _wondered _why you were watching the Valerie performance so intently! I thought it was just that you were insecure about us winning! Don't you _dare _pull a St. Berry on me, not so close to regionals!"

"What are you talking about? I wasn't staring at the performance. And what the hell is a St. Berry?"

"You totally were, actually." Blaine said.

"You stay out of it, Frodo."

Wes walked away. Kurt and Blaine stared at each other. Then, Blaine turned to stare at the retreating back of one of his best friends.

"Did he just call me Frodo?"


End file.
